The Good Tailor
by TheAUWalker
Summary: It's 1850 in London, England, and the peace has been kept under a new reign for fifteen years. Suddenly, a trail of murders start popping up a month after the new tailor arrives. As pasts are dug up and the murders keep getting worse, what will be revealed?
1. Chapter 1

**The Good Tailor**

**A/N: This is an AU England fic. Also, I know that in these old-time fics Stein is always a doctor, so I wanted to shake it up a bit. It will explain why he's a tailor and not a doctor in the story for a particularly interesting reason :)**

**There's going to be a lot of minor OCs in this story. Pay attention to Sora and Roxane, they're important.**

**Enjoy, and please review! :D**

**I promise I'll work on my other stories soon -**

-o-o-o

He was late(again) and Kid felt his eye twitch. Justin apparently hadn't been paying attention to the clock.

Spirit's legs were crossed(unsymetrically) up on the table. Normally Kid would say something but Joe was there. Joe was a nice man but Kid didn't really want to test what all that muscle could do.

Kid folded his hands(symmetrically) and swept his gaze around the room again. Joe Buttataki from the DWMA's resource division stood at the front of the room with his hands crossed behind his back, dressed in a tailored black double-breasted pinstriped suit and shiny black shoes. He tilted his head to the other side and sighed.

Yumi Azusa, part of the Asia division, was sitting straight as a rod next to Joe, her glasses glinting in the few rays of light that penetrated the dark and curtained room.

Marie Mjolnir sat next to Azusa, still slightly out of breath from getting lost and very nearly being late for the meeting.

On the other side of the table, across from Marie, sat Spirit Albarn. The man in question had his hands folded on his stomach and his eyes closed against a hangover. Kid sat across from Azusa, glaring at Spirit's legs on the table and Justin's empty seat.

The room was graced by a grand black table that took up most of the room, save for a small space at the front. Tall, elegant windows were covered by heavy dark red curtains, matching the carpet.

It was nine o'clock, an hour past the time they were supposed to meet. Azusa, Kid, and Joe were as punctual as ever, Marie slipped in by eight thirty, and Spirit as eight forty. It was nine, and there was no sign of Justin Law.

Their little group was the condensing of all the branches of Shibusen, or DWMA for short. They had kept order in London for fifteen years without any slip-ups. It was run by Shinigami-sama, Kid's father.

Marie reached up to adjust the strap of the eye patch she wore. Kid had never figured out why she wore it, because he had seen himself that she had two eyes.

Liz, Kid's assistant, slipped quietly in the room. She walked over to Kid's chair and bent down to his ear.

"Justin Law is entering the building."

"Good." Kid said coldly. "Be sure he comes straight here."

Liz left, clutching her clipboard and brushing a piece of blond hair out of her face.

Five minutes later the doors swung open again to admit the bright-blue eyed young man.

"Hey!" he called loudly, causing Marie to jump slightly in her seat.

"You're an hour late, Mr. Law." Kid said through his clenched teeth.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Justin said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Just sit."

He obliged, and Kid nodded at Joe.

-o-o-o

Kid found himself staring at the curtained carriage sitting by the side of the cobblestoned road, its driver reading a newspaper. A few times the curtains had fluttered aside.

The lobby of Shibusen was busy.

Tsubaki, the head receptionist, was talking to people at her desk.

People filed through the double doors, going in and out and dressed in expensive clothes.

Kid sat in an armchair with his fingers steepled, watching the carriage out the window.

"Ah, see you later, Kid."

"Likewise." Kid responded to the ruffled-looking Spirit. The red-haired man straightened his tie as he walked out. Kid watched as Spirit crossed the street and opened the carriage door.

As the person inside leaned forward, Kid caught a view of a few strands of pink hair and the hem of a purple dress.

Spirit climbed inside, and the carriage took off, no doubt heading towards the occupant's favorite place-Chupra Cabra's, a gentlemen's club.

Kid had no time for such ridiculous things.

He stood up and brushed the non-existent dust off his black suit.

"Tsubaki." he called. "Tell Liz I'll be back in an hour."

"Yes, sir." she smiled in his direction and then returned her gaze to the man in front of her.

-o-o-o

Kid drummed his fingers along the windowsill of the carriage, his golden eyes staring out at the passing shops and people.

His other hand supported his chin.

Suddenly, a new-looking shop passed under his gaze, and Kid twisted around to see it.

"Something interest you?" his companion asked boredly.

"Nothing." Kid responded.

Wes crossed his legs and pressed his ruby-red ring to his lips.

"Do you know anything of new shops?"

"I think a new tailor's coming in. By the way, Soul is coming back from North America soon."

"Wonderful. I'll admit him as soon as he arrives."

"Good."

They continued the rest of the trip in silence.

-o-o-o

"Nice trip?"

"Manageable."

"Good to see you."

The piece of straw jumped in the man's mouth as he smiled.

"Shall we drop the formalities, old friend, and get out of this cold?"

"You always did have the good ideas." Spirit chuckled as he followed his friend into the bar.

Once seated, the two men turned towards one another.

"So, how have you been, Mifune?"

"Things have been well. Angela and I are settled. How about you?"

Spirit nodded at the bartender as his drink was deposited in front of him. The red-haired man shrugged off his jacket before answering.

"Well, actually. Had one hell of a hangover this morning, though."

The two men laughed.

"Maka still hates me, though." Spirit said sadly.

"Ah, I am sorry." Mifune couldn't help a bit of a smirk creeping into his voice.

Spirit noticed.

"Hey!" He objected. "You know, Angela's going to turn on you one day too!"

Mifune took a sip of his drink.

"Hmm."

"Just wait, Mifune, they all turn on their papas."

Mifune smiled in response. "I am not quite her papa. How are things with Shibusen?"

"Quite good. I feel sorry for Kid, though. He should loosen up sometime. And Wes Evans is back in town."

"Mmm. Young ones shouldn't be saddled with that much responsibility."

"I agree." Spirit nodded. "How are things on your end?"

"Arachne still watches An and I, but as long as we don't make sudden movements, we have been left alone."

Mifune took another drink.

"I noticed," he wiped his mouth, "That you have the arrival of a new tailor."

Mifune didn't notice when Spirit's drink slammed down harshly on the bar.

"I-"

"Do you know his name?" Spirit rasped, suddenly very pale.

"No, not yet, but he's a tall one. About your age, and green eyes. That was all I saw on the way here."

Spirit felt sick.

"Damn it." He whispered hoarsely.

"Do you have a bad history with this man?"

"If it's who I think it is…"

Spirit glanced around the bar in a slightly paranoid way, Mifune watching him with interest.

"Did you ever hear about the Skinny Murders?"

-o-o

**A/N: I hope you liked it :D I love the idea of Spirit and Mifune being friends :3**

**Please review! X3 they make me write faster…**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome back for chapter two! :D Bit of disturbing-ness in this one, but manageable if you know Stein. XD**

**I don't own Soul Eater, but I do own a few OCs in this story :3**

**Please review!**

**-o-o-o**

"It rings a distant bell..."

A rush of cold air blew in as the door to the bar opened and closed, admitting a few more people.

Spirit glanced at the bartender, who was cleaning a glass and talking to a group of young men.

"Long story short, there was a series of murders in Germany. Really sick stuff. This psycho would skin people alive...and keep cutting down their muscles so when the police found them they were like sticks."

Mifune set down his glass.

"What does this-"

"I've known Franken Stein for a long time, Mifune. We went to school together. I moved to France, and him to Germany. I got involved with the DWMA's French branch, and was sent to Germany to catch the sicko behind these murders."

There was a loud outburst of laughter from the other end of the bar, and when it died down, Mifune spoke.

"Yes?" He asked his shaken friend quietly.

"S-Stein was a doctor. A good one, too. We never actually caught him in the act...but some nasty suspicions rose up that he was the one behind it."

"How did he end up a tailor in England?"

"The rumors ruined his reputation. He had to move. If he came somewhere as a doctor, he wouldn't be able to get work."

"So he became a tailor..." Mifune trailed off.

Spirit nodded, tossing back the rest of his drink.

"But you say you never caught him in the act of murder." Mifune persisted suddenly. "How do you suspect so strongly it was him?"

"Stein is a genius." Spirit rasped. "He's insane, but he's a genius. No one else...no one else is sadistic enough to think of something like that, or smart enough to get away with it for so long."

Mifune shifted on his stool.

"We had no evidence to bring him in. I was the only one who knew him and knew that he was behind it. I tried to tell them, but I couldn't prove it."

Mifune traced the rim of his glass silently, his mind processing all the information his friend had just told him.

"If I am correct..." Mifune said slowly, "You are in a higher position of power now then in Germany or France?"

"Correct."

Mifune's red eyes met Spirit's blue ones.

"You should tell them about this. There is a better chance of them believing you."

Spirit stared at the wood counter broodingly. "That's not going to work. It wouldn't work if I was the head of Shibusen, either. Plus, there's nothing we could even do. He hasn't done anything yet, Mifune, we can't lock him up for something he hasn't done."

"But you can lock him up for something he has done."

"There's no way to prove that. Believe me, I've tried. No one takes me seriously at Shibusen. I'll admit that I drink too much and don't pay enough attention at work. But I see something everyone else doesn't."

"I believe you." Mifune said quietly.

Spirit gave him a sad smile. "Thanks, old friend."

-o-o-o

How his hands ached.

They would twitch, and his eyes would dart towards the locked black trunk in the corner.

He knew that it would've been better to leave them behind, but he had payed dearly for them.

Only the very best.

The shop was coming along. It had a square front that he'd filled with the lovely racks of dresses and rolls of fabric. Around a corner was his desk, and then further back were a few small rooms for his own use.

He filled up two, one for his room and the other for storage.

The third he kept empty except for the locked black trunk.

Oh, how his hands itched.

-o-o-o

There was a knife to her throat and it was pressing far too hard for comfort.

"Bart." She muttered, keeping her eyes on the ceiling. "Lay off a bit."

"Sorry." He mumbled, releasing some of the pressure.

She knew he was just nervous, and it almost made her want to crack a smile.

Mellissa finished her speech and strode dramatically off stage, her cloak flowing behind her.

"Go, Syd." Roxane whispered as her friend took Mellissa's place.

When their scene was finally over, Bart rode into his 'well done, the Lord was with us' sermon and Roxane shoved her costume into a corner for the aids to hang up later.

She'd somewhere to be, after all.

"Taking off, guys, see you next week!"

"Bye, Roxane!"

The blonde grinned as she pushed open the backstage door, the cold London night air rushing to surround her.

Her boots crunched through the snow and she adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

When the aspiring actress finally pushed open the door to the newly-opened shop, a bell tinkled faintly and then suddenly he was there.

"How may I help you?"

"Hi." She said breathlessly, staring up at his green eyes. "I was wondering-"

"Fabric." He said abruptly. "You came for the new velvet."

"Yeah!"

He led her to the back and pulled a tied roll of rich purple velvet from behind the counter.

"Here you go."

"Thank you!"

He nodded, his silver hair falling in his eyes.

"Well...I'll just be going..."

She left with a red flush on her cheeks.

-o-o-o

Oh, how he would get in trouble.

He cracked a grin.

The only one who knew was his old friend, and no one would believe him.

He itched to do it again.

Everything in the world was a test subject, including himself.

He was tired of cats.

He wanted something more interesting.

Something that would scream louder.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again! :D There's a lot of confusing little facts in this chapter, but I promise it will all make sense eventually.**

**I don't own Soul Eater.**

**-o-o**

The night was crisp, and as Kid slipped outside, he made sure that no one was watching. He set his gaze firmly, striding forward and closing his pocketwatch with a prompt snap.

He had somewhere to be, after all.

-o-o-o

It was a brisk and bustling morning in London, early shoppers already out and about. They were wrapped in thick coats, arms stuffed with wrapped packages, hurrying to beat the rush to their respective destanations.

All the shoppers were one huge mass, no individuals, just a giant crowd.

All the shoppers except one.

Death the Kid, Vice President of Shibusen and son of the famous Lord Death certaintly stood out. It was a pity he had been standing there for so long, because he was starting to attract attention, and this kind of attention was not good for publicity and reputation.

He stood in the middle of the walkway, shoppers shoving their way around him. He was pushed and shoved, but the man was silent.

Kid was certaintly blessed with unique features. Double golden irises, raven black hair with three horizontal stripes on the left side. Normally, he was dressed(as expected) in the clothes of a rich nobleman, but today was different.

He was dressed only in a pair of scuffed black shoes, brown pants held up by a weak-looking pair of red suspenders and a dirty white shirt. There was a smudge on his face and he was covered in dirt.

If the majority of the public had not been educated about who the man was, they would've put him down as a common beggar.

Kid was staring up at the sky and refused to tear his gaze away.

"Isn't that Death the Kid?"

"Sure looks like it."

"What's he..."

The whispers were getting louder and more frequent. They were starting to carry, but they were lost to Kid's ears.

A carriage pulled up to the walkway, the door opening before the driver could even put down the reins.

"Kid, where the hell have you been?"

Elizabeth Thompson, better known as Liz, was one of Kid's faithful assistants.

And frankly, she was pissed.

"Kid, you've missed _two meetings_. The Evans brothers have come all the way down here! We had to re-scheldule the-"

Liz paused.

"Are you even listening?"

The blonde glanced at Kid's attire with a grimace.

"Where did you even get those? Come on, Kid, seriously, people are staring."

Kid did not move.

"Please, Kid."

Liz took Kid's arm, pulling him back to the carriage and navigating her way through the staring crowd.

When they were driving back to Shibusen's headquarters, Liz focused her gaze on Kid, who was staring out the window without a word.

-o-o-o

"Sit here, Kid. I'll go get you some coffee. Be right back."

Liz left the room, her employer sitting alone at the grand black table. The elegant, large room was still dark, its curtains resting over the windows.

The door creaked open not long afte Liz had left, and Spirit sanuntered into the room, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Kid."

Kid did not answer, and Spirit pulled out a chair across from him.

"I saw you leave last night."

"Apparently I wasn't careful enough, then."

"Where did you go?"

"Tailor."

The faint word barely escaped Kid's lips, and Spirit almost didn't catch it.

He stiffened, and opened his mouth to speak, but Kid held up a hand.

"It was a customary check."

"Did you find anything interesting?"

Kid met Spirit's eyes.

"Something's rotting in the trash." he said finally.

-o-o-o

He began to think it out, just as he had planned the Germany murders.

They had even put a name to them.

It made him smile.

He was ever so careful, and would not make the same mistake as last time. The same mistake that almost got him caught.

It was a pity, really.

He had liked those shoes.

-o-o-o-

Two days later the press had received a nice check in order to forget about Kid's unexpected public appearance.

Kid was still skeptical about the tailor being anything more, but to his credit, he did listen to Spirit's story.

"There's just no way to prove it." he said eventually, quietly, and Spirit slumped in his chair.

"I do have one question, though."

Kid fingered a few pages in the hand-written report.

"It says he killed ten people. Your report says that you only collected enough...parts for less than half of that. What happened to the rest?"

-o-o-o

He had always loved to collect things.

His desk was proof. It was covered in shiny, spinning things, little collections and momentos from the past.

Of course, they weren't all his.

He would take a thing or two from his experiments.

Sometimes it was a lock of hair.

Or it could be the watch that was in their pocket, the ring that was on their finger.

Just a little something.

But his favorite thing to take-ever so kindly, they even named his project after it-was skin.

Lovely, lovely skin that he could turn into sandpaper.

Or leather.

He had his own basement, like most people in Germany, and no one really gave a damn about what you kept down there.

He made some of his own things, like vests and holsters, out of the lovely leather.

Or shoes.

The second-to-last-day he had worn his new shoes, a project with a gift from Mary Jane and Catherine.

Their lovely skin made such nice shoes.

Oh, how he had loved those shoes.

-o-o-o

"And flesh, Kid. Flesh under his fingernails and the smell of that accursed tanning fluid."

Kid stared at his shoe resting against the leg of the table.

"He tried to hide it with cologne, but oh, _I _could still smell it."

Spirit paused.

"You _do_ believe me, right, Kid?"

"Of course."

There was a silence.

"You don't need to lie to me.:

"Well, then the ruse is up."

Kid stood.

"I have to admit this all sounds like one giant hoax. The official records won't arrive from Germany until another week, and it's going to make me look like an idiot if I'm chasing after something that's not even real."

"Kid, I swear, I'm telling the truth."

Death the Kid looked at the desperate man for a long, long time.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Spirit."

-o-o-o

Finally, he could unlock it.

A giggle rose out of his throat before he could supress it.

He knelt down and unbolted the heavy black trunk in the small room, slowly pulling up the top and passing a admiring hand over the contents.

The jar in the corner, he remembered that. The last time he opened that one was to show Annie, but he had closed it again the same day.

And Elizabeth, oh, Elizabeth.

A hand went up to clutch the side of his face where a sloping scar ran across his cheek.

Another giggle.

There was so much to do, and so much time.

If he was lucky, he could catch one more cat and practice one last time.

He stood up, pocketing a scalpel and closing the trunk.

Oh, he was excited.

He opened the door and yes, there were cats around the milk dish, but there was also an unwated visitor.

A raven-haired man, dressed in white, bending over to look at the cats and peering curiously at the trash cans.

"Oh, hello!"

A grin spread across Franken Stein's face.

**A/N: Anyone catch the Jack the Ripper references in there? If you didn't, some of the names of the women were Jack the Ripper victims.**

**You can thank Lialane Graest and yuuki24688 for helping me out on this chapter :)**

**I do love writing Mad!Kid...**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is a short chapter, but I really, really like it. Features Lialane Graest's unfortunate OC.**

**I don't own Soul Eater.**

**Please review, and tell me if you think you know the answers to any of the little mysteries in this fic :3**

**-o-o-o**

It was almost too easy.

Almost too easy to lure the man in for a cup of tea, too easy to slip something in his drink, too easy to smile behind the rim of his cup as his unexpected guest crumpled to the floor.

Not dead, of course.

Just out.

Usually, patients administered this sedative would wake up in a few hours and not remember a thing.

However(a grin spread across his face) this patient would not be waking up.

-o-oo-o

Oh, how _glorious_ it felt. It had been so long and now here he was again, back to old habits. His hands were roaming, touching, skimming over pale skin, shaking with excitement.

This time he would not get caught.

This time he would be more careful, more cautious, plan it out better, because he could not afford another mistake.

He would be able to indulge in his little habit in peace.

-o-o

Kid unlocked the door to his house.

It was grand structure, a large mansion with big black pillars, almost castle-like. It was perfectly symmetrical, as Kid had ordered, complete with some of the most exquisite art pieces in Britain.

Kid walked through the front hall, shrugging off his coat, his shoes clacking against the floor. The shuffling of the fabric and the clicks of his heels echoed through the mansion, dark and lonely.

Well, he was not really alone.

Liz and her younger sister Patty had lived in the southern sector of Gallows Manor for two years. They were originally from Brooklyn, New York, in America. On a business trip, he'd found them living in the streets and brought them back with him. Much more civilized now, Liz stayed with him and also functioned as his secretary. Patty was gone most of the day, preferring to run the many errands to keep Kid's home and work life running while her sister was at work.

But they were gone tonight, off to see a show, escorting the Evans brothers. So tonight, Kid would be alone in the big, roomy house.

He put his coat in the closet and lit a few candles that casted their shadows across the floor and headed for the kitchen, his mind still processing Spirit's words.

Right as he turned the water in the sink on to wash his hands, there was a loud crash and the sound of shattering glass from the entry hall.

Kid shot back to where he had just been walking, reaching backwards to pull a gun out of his trousers.

Broken glass from the large front windows was everywhere, glittering with the reflected rays of moonlight. Among the destruction sat a single, box-shaped object, about the size of a small loaf of bread.

Kid did not lower his gun until he had casted a glance out of the broken window to find that there was no one lurking about.

He walked towards it slowly and picked it up.

It was a dark red brick, with white chalk writing on one side.

"_Get the tailor out of London."_

-o-o-o-o

He had cut down to the bone and he could see it, sort of that off-white that he remembered so fondly.

Stein wasn't sure who his guest was, just some unlucky bastard who had a like for cats.

He may never be able to walk right again.

Even if Stein stitched his legs back up, he may never be able to get over the feeling of having someone's fingers slip through his tendons, no gloves because he liked the warmth and the feel.

When he was done with the legs he moved on to the throat, because the man had such a nice voice. By the looks of it, he was a church boy. Probably sang in the choir.

Not anymore.

Stein's scalpel delicately slid across his vocal cords, severing them immediately. No more voice and no more legs.

With a simple glance, his interest was captured again.

He could almost _see_ the perfectly shaped ribcage the man would have, and Stein went to reveal it, the scalpel sliding through the skin like butter, blood gushing out and flowing through his fingers.

It dripped off the cold metal table onto the floor, slowly, in a sinister way, sort of the beginning to the end.

-o-o-o

Early the next morning when the fog was still milling around the corners and drifting over the cobblestones in the street, no one thought much of a man standing on the big bridge, tossing something small into the river.

-o-o-

Throughout the preacher's sermon, many glances were cast at the empty spot in the choir box where a young raven-haired man with brown eyes should have been standing. The stares kept multiplying until the other singers had to move to fill his spot, black robes rustling.

A single choir singer that had never been absent from mass was missing.

By the end of the week, he had not turned up, and no one could find him. The last place he had been seen was leaving a restaurant, just having finished dinner with his family. He took the same route home that he usually did, but never arrived.

The case rose through the levels of Scotland Yard, sluggish at first, but quickly gaining speed and interest. Something like this had not happened in _years_, someone did not just simply _disappear_. All the residents along the path to his house were questioned, but only questioned, because the police did not have evidence. They could not search the houses, but even so, from their questioning, it did not seem like anyone would be hiding him.

It reached Shibusen in the heart of London, riding in the briefcase of Liz Thompson who had just picked it up at the ranking station just below them. No one could figure out where the man had went, who had taken him, anything. They had no evidence and practically no information.

By the end of the week, Bartholomew Renjoy was presumed dead.

-o-o-o-o


	5. Chapter 5

Stein saw Roxane again, once or twice, making unnecessary trips into his store for new fabrics and clothes she most likely had no need for. He kept a pleasant smile on his face and hid the knowing one behind it, knowing it would do no good to scare the little duck away so soon.

There was so much yet to be done.

Spirit Albarn, his old acquaintance, was in London. There were many more of them here, and Stein had to admit he was surprised. He had no idea so many of his old friends would have come to London, to work in the infamous company known world-round. They were hardly friends anymore, rather enemies.

But not yet. He hadn't done anything spectacular quite yet; there was no need to rush. So much time and so many people, milling around the streets, so many people who no one would miss if they disappeared for the rest of eternal time.

But that was not what Franken Stein was after.

He was after the thrill, the chill, something that kept him interested. It was simply no fun picking an urchin off the street and using them for his games; it was better to pick someone who was noticed and looked after and missed, someone of impact.

And he would rise.

Up the ranks he would go, picking off his victims like a silver-haired vulture and steadily spreading his sutures through the highest hearts, infiltrating and scaring and taking. He would reach the top, the very top, be perhaps the first to slip his cold fingers under the famous white mask of Lord Death and discover what lay underneath. Perhaps the sight was not for man, but he had been doubting that he was _just _man for a long while. What human could bring electricity to spark upon his fingertips, so sense the being and presence of others behind thick walls? To seemingly _control_-oh, that had been the best. Gluing someone to the ceiling, freezing them, making them dance in the eeriest of ways. He was surely not just man, but what was he?

Franken Stein was alone in the world, cold and dark. The one light in his life had been snuffed out(by his own hand) far, far away, on a medical convention in Oceania. Marie, he remembered. She had been dead for a while now, perhaps one of the things Spirit and Azusa were still smarting about. He was never convicted of anything but everyone _knew_.

Just like in Germany, everyone knew, and he had to leave his medical license behind and pick up a needle, still an old friend. He made a living in London as a tailor and he couldn't shake his bad habit of picking people apart like a raven does with a dead man's eyes.

He would be more careful this time around, he would ascend into a god's realm. Death's realm. He would pick at the people of London like an infection, a virus, a plague, the silent killer that no one could ever name.

-o-o-

It was a dangerous and exciting little game, picking his next victim. Franken Stein was a vulture, waiting in the wings with a scarf wrapped tight around his nose to protect from the bitter morning cold. He would wait in the shadows, like a street urchin(a bit tall for one, he was, but no one was unused to some ghoulish freak-show lurking in the alleyways), and watch, _watch_, wait with teeth bared and search for the perfect one.

It was an irregular pattern when he went to people-watch, picking a different spot each time. Sometimes, like the case of the poor vocal cat-loving creature that wandered into his yard, his victims were spontaneous and unplanned. But there was the thrill that came with picking, picking and luring and trapping. It was good fun to reel them in, gain their trust and then slit their throat. Not just that, of course.

Gender was not a factor for him. Women were nice, the lovely little birds, with their nice pale skin, but like his church bird men could sometimes have the skin he craved to touch as well. Stein had been watching the boy's family, even found out his name when the boy was declared dead in the paper. No one would ever trace it back to him and no one ever would, he would move up the ranks and reach Death himself, create a legacy.

To have a little duckling to leave behind...

Marie had wanted children, but she also wanted her freedom. How that made him chortle, her indecision, or rather _his. _But that didn't matter now, she was out of his way and he had better things to think about. Roxane was a different kind, but he wouldn't want a child. It would only get in the way, and no one could ever be like him.

-o-oo

Stein could almost feel the chemicals seeping into the woman's scalp, the sizzling of the acids and the burning of hair. His trained nose picked up on all of it and she was happily oblivious, clad in what looked like two sewed-together washcloths and a hand towel, both dyed like her hair.

Hair a shade of dark blue that was obviously unnatural, but when a man is drunk strange things happen to the mind. She was made to be an attraction, almost like an object, fawned over by society's dirty old drunkards.

It was a place where you should not be seen with your hand halfway up one of the attraction's legs and your fingers intertwined with the handle of an alcoholic drink. These women were not prostitutes-something more formal, better, the higher-up for the higher-ups.

Stein had been lurking in the shadows for more than an hour, eyes on the life of the party, a short woman named Mellissa Nine.

Mellissa, with dark blue hair and green eyes, in a violet dress that flattered her complexion. It would be so easy for him to take her away-but that was a fool's thought.

They were protected.

The men running this place did not take kindly to someone running off without paying, and kept an eye on everything. To take one home was an astronomical sum-one Stein would not take kindly to paying. He wouldn't pay to even get her alone.

Stein would take her at the height of her career, ruin some old bastard's reputation along with it in a typhoon of scandals. How easy it was for him to creep along in the darkness-he was a catering doctor, he would gladly take his services outside of his shop. Mellissa Nine was set to be his next victim, and Jonathan Ward would be the unlucky prick who would get sucked down the drain with her. Stein remembered him, he had quite the reputation.

Stein chuckled.

He quite liked this coat-it flapped around his ankles in a daring way as he advanced upon Ward's mansion in the dead of night, scalpels set in-between his fingers and other medical implements strapped to his back. The silver-haired tailor avoided the two lazy-eyed guards stationed at the front gates, stepping to the back and scaling the fence. The two men playing cards he silenced with a quick throat-slit, and as soon as he pilfered the keys he was inside.

Piano music trilled throughout the house, and a few older nobles trailed around, murmuring about taxes, and Stein kept to the corners and crept upstairs.

It was not that difficult to locate the two.

The door closed with a click behind him, masked by the sounds of thumping and muffled shrieks coming from the curtained bed. Stein shed his coat and advanced, reaching over his shoulder for his bone-saw.

He pulled aside the curtain, and raised an eyebrow.

It was not exactly what he had been expecting; witnessing Ward's death by the hands of the woman. She was crying, arms pushing the cushion over his face while he struggled to no avail. Her hair was matted, cascading down her shoulders with odd chunks cut out of it.

She whirled, and saw him right as Ward ceased to fight against her. He went limp, limbs slack,

"Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter, you'll forget in a moment." Stein said smoothly. "Why'd you fancy taking his life?"

Her tears started. "Threatening me, he was, telling me he'd get my kid and my mum if I didn't stay with him, except I don't like him and don't want that threat over my head, no, so I just-"

"Fair enough."

She eyed him, suspiciously, wild-eyed.

"You ain't gonna tell anybody, are you?"

"Of course not."

"I'm not stupid. Soon as you leave, I'll be in Bedlam!"

The corners of Stein's mouth twitched. He should visit there, soon, pick up a few new patients to experiment on.

"What are you laughing about?"

She was panicking, fingers clutching the pillow like it was her lifeline. Mellissa backed away from him, spine up against the headboard of the bed. She glanced at the body fearfully.

"I can pay you, sir, help me get rid of this and don't tell on me and I'll pay you everything I have!"

"Oh, no. That won't be necessary."

"What are you-"

"You will suffice."

-o-o-o

"Messy, innit?"

"He has style, though, you've to admit. She was right in wanting him."

"Style? Bloody hell, he just takes a saw to them."

"Ah, you're not even looking right. It's there, he cuts 'em up cleanly. Arranges 'em."

"Real gross, though, the thing with the throat. What was he getting at?"

"Vocal chords, I suppose, so she couldn't scream or shit like that. Gaping like a fish, she was."

"You'd be."

There was a moment of silence, and the branches creaked around the pair perched in the shadowy tree, watching nonchalantly through the window.

Several people had flooded the room, taking photographs of the mangled body and the dead man, everything, talking and calling Shibusen.

"We should go soon, what if they shine a light up here or something?"

"Calm down, we'll go in a minute. I wanna watch."

"Sadistic bastard, you are."

"Shut your mouth, you little wh-"

"_What the hell are you still doing here?"_

"Hey, look, it's the bugger!"

"Call me that again and I'll slit your fucking throat."

There was a crash as the pair jumped down from the tree, joining their companion by the driveway.

"Let's go already, been waiting hours."

"What, want to get home to your priest boy?"

"Shut your mouth. I fucking hate him."

"Oh, yeah, you're f-"

"_SHUT UP!"_

"God, you two are so loud, can we just get back? And Giriko, turn those things off, they freak me out and they're loud."

"Jus' chains."

"Automatic chains, and don't mess around with those."

"Eh." Giriko replied dismissively.

-o-o-o

The bell hit the edge of the door frame and clanged sharply as Stein re-entered the shop, setting down his bloody saw and reaching over his desk to scratch another notch into the corner behind the cash register.

Two, now.

He allowed a pleased grin to spread across his face, closing the curtains and shedding his coat and tools. Clean them, away they went into the trunk, lock the door.

Unwrap his package.

He had left the man and a little of the woman-but nothing to connect it to him. They would not come knocking, and even if they did he would be ready.

Put the package away, he'd sort it all out later. Organize it, clean it, fetch the jam jar and then into the drink. Maybe his murders would get more frequent, he'd make their pretty little heads spin round until he got to the top. He would bring down the man they called Death.

He'd tried something new, this time, channeling his electricity down through the scalpel and searing her skin while she screamed and cried about her child. He burned his message into her for all to see, a warning of what would be unleashed.

He would introduce true terror into the heart of London.

-o-o-oo

**A/N: A few things I'd like to say-disregard all real-world timelines of places and things that reference real life that happen in this story, because I'm just sort of having it happen as I go.**

**Second, Bedlam was a famous(not for its success) mental hospital. It was one of the worst, I think.**

**Third, yes, we introduce Giriko! His two companions you might be able to figure out, and also who they're working under. **

**Please review, and I hope you enjoyed! :3**


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